Mrs. John Doe

Mrs. John Doe Read Free Page B

Book: Mrs. John Doe Read Free
Author: Tom Savage
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placed everything else in her shoulder bag.
    “Thank you for everything, Dr. Gupta,” she said. They shook hands, and she and Bill returned to the car, where his driver waited.
    “John Doe,” Nora murmured as the car moved through the early evening traffic, back the way they’d come. “It’s as though he didn’t exist, as though he
never
existed.”
    “No matter,” Bill said. “It’s just paperwork, and we’ll update the police. There wasn’t much for them to go on.”
    “I guess. Still, I suppose that makes me
Mrs
. John Doe.” She felt a horrible urge to laugh. Instead, she stared out through the tinted window as the car traveled south, aware of the chilly air-conditioning and the cloying scent of vanilla air freshener. She couldn’t think in this lavish conveyance; she could barely breathe. When they were two blocks from the hotel, she glanced at her watch and said, “It’s nearly seven o’clock, and you have to meet that minister of the Crown or whatever. Could you drop me at the next corner? I’d like to walk, and the park is nearby. I want to be alone for a while. Would you mind?”
    “Of course not,” he said. “I think some air would be good for you.” He instructed the driver, who immediately pulled over and got out of the car. The man opened the back door and handed her out. She bent down to thank Bill again, then stood up straight and smiled at the big man beside her. As he closed the back door, the driver suddenly leaned toward her, his gloved hand gripping her forearm, his lips inches from her ear, and whispered three words.
    “Be careful, Pal.”
    Nora turned to stare at the man, but he was already back inside the car, shutting his door and reaching for the steering wheel. She watched from the corner, breathless, as the limousine silently rolled away and vanished in the gathering darkness.

Chapter 4
    Fog. Nora gradually became aware of it as she stood on the corner, half a block north of her hotel. A thin, cold vapor had arrived in the street, not yet a full-on
particular
but growing by the minute. No matter, she decided; she was still wearing the beige trench coat. She buttoned and belted it over her black blouse, skirt, and high-heeled boots, her informal version of widow’s weeds, grimly acknowledging the humor of the coat’s label: LONDON FOG .
    Something had just happened, of course, something odd and possibly momentous, but Nora could see no point in standing here trying to figure it out. Better to move, and move quickly. London’s most famous meteorological peculiarity was never shy, and this light mist could soon become a swirling wall of condensation, freezing everything in its path. She wanted to walk before she had to go indoors.
    She hurried down the sidewalk, past the Byron and on to the corner of Montague Place. She turned left and proceeded east, glancing over at the imposing British Museum as she passed by it. She came into Russell Square, crossed the street, and moved briskly through the wrought-iron gates at the southwest corner of her favorite spot in London. Only then, when she was inside, did she slacken her pace. She shifted her inner gears, slowing down to take in the beauty around her.
    Russell Square Gardens was a lovely environment, wide green lawns dotted with tall chestnut trees, a lime grove, and lush flower borders teeming with many vivid colors. The diagonal sidewalks were lined with benches and iron lampposts, and they led from the four corners to the geographical center of the park, a round plaza ringed with more benches where a circular, ground-level fountain sent water gushing up into the air from the pavement itself. The square reminded her of Washington Square Park in New York City, so well remembered from her college days at NYU, and it was every bit as beautiful. That was one reason why she loved it here.
    She moved forward along the path, clutching her collar in the growing mist as she arrived at the central plaza. She reached into her

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